A Journey Into the Iraq of Recollection

BAGHDAD — A sandstorm always makes a dreary Baghdad drearier. The sun turns to a moon in a funereal gray sky. Time surrenders its procession, as dawn melts into a cloudy day that feels like dusk. Common these days, the storms bring a gauze of grit that settles over everything, and the eyebrows of Pvt. Bassem Kadhim were no exception.

Standing at a checkpoint at the entrance of the Baghdad Central Railway Station, he leaned toward a car. His eyes narrowed, as he cocked his head in recognition.

Um Kalthoum, the Egyptian diva of another generation, played on a scratchy cassette. It was the song “Siret al-Hob,” her peerless voice soaring over the strains of a forlorn violin.

“Let me listen for just a moment,” Kadhim told the driver, “then I’ll let you pass.”

Buy

A note from Nada Bakri

"I do not approve of and will not be a part of any public discussion of Anthony's passing. It does nothing but sadden Anthony's children to have to endure repeated public discussion of the circumstances of their father's death."
–Nada Bakri, wife of the late Anthony Shadid